the chill of loneliness
by whatifellinlovewith
Summary: "The hotel room is lonely. Cold. She closes the door behind her and it hits her instantly, like a breeze from nowhere that rushes up her spine, leaves her shivering in its wake." Post-ep for 8x02.


The hotel room is lonely. Cold.

She closes the door behind her and it hits her instantly, like a breeze from nowhere that rushes up her spine, leaves her shivering in its wake. The sharpness of freezing emptiness, like a blade through her heart. As painful as the lingering image of his face when she stuck her knife through his.

No. Less painful.

Because somehow… Somehow—

 _Why are you giving up on our marriage?_

 _I'm trying to save it._

 _By leaving me?_

—this is more painful than any knife to the chest could ever be. More painful than the bullet ever was.

The bag falls. Her hand presses hard against her scar, the one puckered and numb between her breasts. A reminder that somewhere along this journey to her unreachable happily ever after, he's taken up her heart, made her care more about him than she ever has about herself.

He's wiped away the pain from the bullet, healed it with love. And it's his kisses she sees behind closed eyes. It's his love that seems to disappear from around her and leave her vulnerable to the freeze. To the pain of having her heart torn to shreds.

To the agony of knowing that she did this to him. Again.

A tear slips from the corner of her eye. She wipes it away with her hand.

Another one falls when cold metal brushes against her cheek, when she can't tear her eyes open to see what it is. What she already knows it is.

Her heart stutters with it—

 _If you have a problem., we have a problem. That's how this works._

 _No, Castle, not this time._

 _Whatever it is, Beckett, we can figure it out. Like always._

—breaks with it so painfully she can almost hear it crack.

She wipes the rest of the tears away with her right hand. Avoids the metal and the ring and the promises she's trying to keep in all the wrong ways. In the only way she knows how.

 _I did what I did to protect you._

Because all he's ever done is help her.

She wipes away another tear, swallows the ball in her throat and ignores the pressure in her chest. The cries that bed to escape, that she must keep down for her own sanity.

So she doesn't go running back to him. Doesn't leave what she has to do for love and for home.

So she doesn't put his life at risk, doesn't let him get caught in the crossfires, when she's already torn his heart to shreds over and over again.

She's already hurt him enough, has brought him to the brink of death with her too many times. Has broken his heart only for him to dedicate his time to fixing hers.

Protecting him now… It's her only choice.

And all she can do is hope—

 _And when it's done, I just, I hope you'll have room in your heart to take me back._

—that he'll understand. That he'll see what she was trying to do, that she was fighting for him and their family and _them_.

And if not…

No. _No._ She can't face the _if not_.

She can't face any of it.

So she ignores it. Forces the burn in her side and the ache in her chest out of her mind, along with the image of her ring and of his face before she left.

Instead, she looks at the room in front of her. At the bed that is made too neatly, is so unappealing and empty. At the dresser that she doubts she'll ever fill and the chair that overlooks the city.

She heads for the desk, neglecting the overwhelming need for sleep as drops into the office chair and reaches for a notepad and a pen.

She jots down what she knows in sloppy handwriting, written in desperation, blurred by tears.

It's not much. Not enough. And her already broken heart sinks to her stomach with realization that this will be so much harder than she thought. That it'll take longer, when it's already been too long.

The tears come again, burning until they fall. One lands on the paper, washes away a spot of ink. She crumples up the list, lts the edges cut at her palm before throwing it across the room.

It lands on the bed, where Castle would be sleeping.

And it breaks her.

The sob is ripped from her chest, stings through her throat and escapes through the gaps between her fingers, painful and loud as she falls from the chair, collapses onto her knees.

And she cries. Bawls. Sobs. No longer bothering with wiping away her tears or tampering down the pain.

She's alone. He's not here.

She left.

She left him, and home and the warmth of love and the sweet, sweet feeling of his arms wrapped around her for _this._ For a lonely, cold hotel room and a rabbit hole she can never resist.

Regret churns at the pit of her stomach, the need for him, the desire to run back and beg—

 _I love you. I always will. Forgive me_.

—for everything she might be giving up.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she crawls over to the chair, pulls herself up onto it, brings her feet up with her, wraps her hands around her knees.

Her ring glints in the fading light. She pulls the sleeve of her sweater over it. To hide it. To forget. To shield herself from the pain.

And she stares at nothing until the sun up, stuck in this trap she dug herself into.

The rabbit hole is cold. Lonely.


End file.
